


Must You Really?

by outburstsoftheordinary



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Description of Mental Illness, F/F, One Shot, THE POCKETWATCH, brief mention of vomiting in chapter 3, featuring ann's arch nemesis, now a series of one-shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-06-26 07:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19763635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outburstsoftheordinary/pseuds/outburstsoftheordinary
Summary: Anne may be overly obsessed with timekeeping. Some stories involving Anne's watch. Inspired by the ending scene because I can't get over how cute it is. Featuring some playfulness, some arguments and, of course, Ann's arch-nemesis.





	1. Are you watching me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne times how long it takes Ann to do certain activities. Well, one activity in particular. Ann is displeased.
> 
> Some squabbling, mild hurt/comfort, and playfulness from our favorite pair of Ann(e)s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember reading that Anne Lister would time how long it took her to make her partners orgasm and compete against herself to get better times. But now I can't find the source anywhere, so maybe I dreamt it. Either way, it's not out of character. Anyways, I know I would find it very upsetting and I thought Ann Walker probably would too and so this fic was born. (If anyone knows whether this is actually true and has the source, please let me know because I spent hours looking and it's driving me crazy.)

Ann rolled onto her back chest heaving. Her hair was mussed and her face slightly flushed from the exertion moments before. A smile graced her face as her body hummed with the warmth that had flooded her moments before. She looked over lovingly at her wife only to find her leaning on the bedside table peering at her pocket watch and marking it down in her journal. 

“Must you really check your pocket watch every time?” she asked exasperated. 

“Yes, dear,” Anne responded distractedly still scribbling away. 

Irked at her wife’s disregard, Ann reached over to grasp Anne’s chemise and pulled her wife back round to face her. Anne, surprised at the show of strength, looked at her wife in perplexity, eyebrows raised, confused as to why she was abruptly ripped away from her quiet musings.

“Anne, I’m being serious,” said Ann her brow crinkling in vexation at the amused quirk of her wife’s lips. “When you time me, I find that I feel rather self-conscious,” she finished and looked down as a flush crept up her face. She wondered how long it had taken her this time. Was it too long? Was it too short? How did it compare to the last time?

“You needn’t be self-conscious, Ann. My habit of timekeeping is simply for posterity’s sake and not a measure of any sort of performance on your part.”

“Must the future really know how long our lovemaking took?” Ann sighed and turned back over. She stared at the ceiling and felt an ached in her chest as she resigned herself to her wife being difficult as she was sometimes prone to do.

“Ah, I suppose not, though I myself find pleasure in it,” Anne mused.

“And I do not find pleasure in it. Quite the opposite.”

“Ann, I already said you needn’t be self-conscious.” Exasperation was now creeping into Anne’s voice. She really didn’t understand why her wife had to be so sensitive about such matters.

“What does it matter whether or not I needn’t be self-conscious when the fact remains that I am in actuality self-conscious!” Ann snapped no longer able to keep the ire out of her voice.

“But you needn’t be.”

“But I am!”

“Why?”

“Because you’re timing me.”

“But why does my timing you make you feel self-conscious?”

“Because… well because… it just…I don’t…”

As Ann stuttered to find words to explain, Anne’s eyes lit up in victory.

“Ah you see? I have reason to continue timekeeping but you have no reason to continue being self-conscious. Therefore, I see no reason why I should stop,” she declared rather pleased with herself for putting this whole matter to rest.

“Because I don’t like it! And if you continue to insist upon doing it then I shan't lie with you again,” Ann shouted her fingers whitening as she clenched her fists into the blankets. A beat passed as they both stared at each other in shock at the outburst. Anne’s mouth was agape and for once she seemed at a loss for words. Forcing herself to take deep, slow breaths, Ann mumbled, “I’m…I’m sorry. I ought not to have shouted.” Her eyes flitted back and forth as she shifted uneasily. She looked back at her wife, guilt evident on her face as she searched Anne’s face for some sort of reassurance that it would be alright. That they would be alright.

When Anne continued to stare at her in silence, she turned away onto her side. “I’m sorry, pay me no mind,” Ann whispered. “I’ve only made you cross. I shan’t bring it up again.” Her voice trembled and her shoulders crumpled in defeat. Tears formed in her eyes and clung to her lashes as they slowly began to fall. She heard her wife shift behind her and a hand pressed against her cheek gently turning her head. Ann gazed up into deep brown eyes which had now softened in worry.

“Does it truly vex you?” Anne murmured stroking her cheek. She sometimes got caught up in her alacrity and forgot to take the time to consider her wife’s feelings.

Ann nodded against her hand. Her beautiful blue eyes looked up at her, vulnerable and glittering with tears. Anne’s breath caught at the sight. How this woman always manages to undo her! How she would do anything to be assured she would be able to stare into those eyes for the rest of her life.

“Then I will stop,” Anne confessed.

“Promise?” Ann murmured closing her eyes and pushing her check against Anne’s hand. And Anne’s memory flashed to another time—a time of heartache, of misery, of longing—when Ann pressed her face into her palm, when desperate words fell from her mouth: Promise me you’ll stay tonight? Of course, she would promise. Of course, she would. 

“I promise. For you, I will stop.”

“Only for me? Is there someone else with which you will continue to time?” Ann quipped, a hint of mischief now sparkling underneath the forgotten tears.

Anne smiled at her wife’s jest and paused considering. “Hmm, I had my eye on John. He’s…um…manly?” she finished, uncertain what qualities one might find appealing in a man.

“Oh, John?” Ann laughed rolling into her wife. She ran a finger along Anne’s collar bone and bit her lip coyly. “He’s a bit of a step down from me don’t you think?” she leaned in so that her whisper danced against Anne’s lips.

“Anyone would be a step down from you, my love.”

Ann turned serious again her smile fading. “You wouldn’t rather be with someone who doesn’t mind? I don’t…I don’t mean to be such a bother,” she fidgeted and drew back to pick at the hem of her gown.

Anne took Ann’s face in both of her hands drawing her back toward her. She looked deep into her eyes willing her to understand. This is my truth. Please see it. Please hear it. Please believe it. “You are the only one for which my heartbeats. I have been with many women but you have always been the only one who accepts me as I am and loves me for it. How could I ever be with anyone but you?”

“You won’t…you won’t grow tired of my afflictions?” Ann murmured laying her head upon Anne’s shoulder.

“I took the sacrament with you. I swore oaths to you upon the bible. I chose you to be with for the rest of my days.”

“Oh, you did? I don’t think I remember that.” Ann smiled sweetly snuggling further into her wife. “Remind me?” 

Anne chuckled at her wife’s antics and rolled them both so that she looked down at Ann whose hair spread across the pillow like a halo. “I will gladly remind you every day of my commitment to you.” With a slow, sweet kiss she began.

“I, Anne Lister,” she mumbled against her lips. “Take you, Ann Walker,” she said kissing Ann’s forehead, that oh so lovely head containing her brain that made up everything Ann was. Everything she adored. Everything she cherished. Everything she loved. “To be my wife.” She pulled Ann’s hand up to press her lips against the ring that marked their union. “To have and to hold.” She pulled Ann against and cradled her head. Her fingers threaded through Ann’s blonde silky hair. Pressing her lips into Ann’s ear she continued, “from this day forward.” 

A shiver went down Ann’s spine as the puffs of air tickled against her ear. She curled her hands into Anne’s chest humming in contentment.

“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer,” Anne continued, punctuating each word with a kiss to her cheek, her eyelids, her chin, her throat. “In sickness and in health.” Anne continued downward pulling aside the chemise to kiss along her collarbone. 

Ann’s breath came quicker. She reached down and brushed Anne’s hair behind her ear. Anne sat back and brought Ann’s hand to her mouth. She pressed her lips softly against every one of Ann’s knuckles.

“To love and to cherish, till death us do part,” she breathed into her palms, “according to God's holy law.” Ann stroked her thumb against her wife’s strong cheekbone looking absolutely angelic as she beamed up at her. She pressed Ann’s hand against her chest so she could feel the pounding of her heart. Her eyes full of love, she looked at Ann. Sometimes she still couldn’t believe this wonderful woman was hers. “In the presence of God, I make this vow.”


	2. Hey Anne, watch this!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann tries to get her wife's attention by holding her pocket watch hostage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a fun, playful scene between the Ann(e)s but it devolved into ANGST. Be warned.

Anne let out a huff of frustration. Where was her damn watch? She was always so meticulous. There was no way she would lose it, yet it was not in her waistcoat pocket where it ought to be. She was sure she had left it there the night before. Sure she had slipped it out to check the time when she rose this morning. Sure she had marked it down in her journal and sure she had returned it to her pocket before leaving the room. Yet still, her pocket was empty. 

Perhaps she hadn’t returned it to her pocket. Perhaps it still lay beside her journal (but that wasn’t like her.)

She stormed back up the stairs, her footsteps calling out her foul mood to all of Shibden. With a bang, she entered her bedroom. She strode past the bed where Ann still rested. There, on the table, sat her journal but no watch. Perhaps Ann had seen where it had gone. 

Turning on her heel, her long black coat swishing behind her, she began to ask, “Ann, have you seen my—” but her words died in her throat as she saw Ann sitting up, eyes sparkling, dangling her watch in front of her. 

“Oh, are you looking for this?” Ann inquired innocently. 

“How…?”

Ann’s smile grew impossibly wide. (It ought to look impish, but she had done it with such genuine delight that Anne thought she looked rather angelic, sitting before her, beaming, with the sunlight streaming through the window catching her hair aglow as if to create a halo.) “This morning as you were leaving.”

Anne’s eyes snapped open to the dawn light playing across her pillow. Energy for a new day coursed through her body, and a pleasant warmth still lingered from last night’s lovemaking. She felt her wife pressed against her back, slender feet intertwined with her own, a delicate arm slung across her hip, and soft breaths tickling her back from where her wife’s face pressed between her shoulder blades. Despite starting the night curling herself around her Ann’s smaller form, she often found herself like this— almost falling off the edge of the bed— as when she rolled away in her sleep, Ann, whether awake or asleep, always came searching for her warmth to cuddle into. Shifting backward out of her precarious position, she turned to face Ann. 

Ann let out a soft groan at being jostled, but it quickly changed into a hum of contentment as Anne gathered her into her arms. Pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, she murmured, “Good morning, little one.” 

Ann, not really awake, simply pressed further into her. 

“Ann, I’ve got to get up.” 

When there was no response except for the sound of slow breathing, Anne began to pry Ann’s hand from her shirt; her grip was surprisingly strong for one still in the throes of slumber. Once disentangled, Anne stood and rang for Eugenie.

Now dressed and with her hair done up, Anne returned to the bedside. Her wife, though still lying down, was markedly more conscious. Crouching next to her, Anne inquired, “Shall I have Eugenie assist you with dressing?”

“No, I should like to have a lie-in.”

Anne reached out and cupped Ann’s face. “Of course, my love.” 

Ann sighed into her touch. 

Anne admired the constellations of freckles scattered beneath her fingers. She thought Ann beautiful always but somehow nothing could compare to this when she was soft and vulnerable and laid bare— no face paste or beeswax, no sleeve pumpers, stays, or petticoats, nothing to cover or pad or hide her body— only the silky chemise covering her. Pride swelled in her chest that Ann allowed her to behold her so. 

Ann’s eyes had fluttered shut again. Giving her cheek one final caress, Anne stood and crossed to the desk. A leather-bound journal lay on the table already opened to a fresh page. She marked the time she woke and the temperature in her diary before unfolding her greatcoat from the chair. 

She made to leave but was surprised when a hand grabbed her. 

“Are you really going to leave without giving me a proper goodbye?” 

Ann looked up at her through long lashes. At once, she was animated, hopping off the bed and backing against the wall, pulling Anne along with her. Anne let out a low grunt as she threw up her arms to catch herself against the wall. She looked down at the smaller woman pressed against her and cocked an eyebrow. 

“What’s this about then?” Anne queried. 

“You owe your wife a goodbye kiss before you leave.” 

Ann bit her lip and let her head lull back against the wall exposing her neck. Anne’s eyes flicked down to the tender, vulnerable flesh before traveling back up to soft, full lips. She leaned in to press her lips in a kiss but was met with sudden ferocity. Ann’s lips clashed against hers: hot and wet. Hands wound themselves into Anne’s coat and ran up and down her sides, her back, her chest. Gasping, she broke away. 

“That felt like more than a goodbye kiss.”

“I’ll miss you. You’ll be gone for some time,” Ann replied leaning back.

Anne was confused. She was just going out for the day; she did that all the time.“I won’t be gone long. You will see me next at supper.”

“Maybe.”

Anne furrowed her brow. Why was her wife doubting her? She always kept her word, and she was always on time. “Not maybe. I will certainly see you next at supper.”

“We shall see.” Ann gave an imperious smile putting an end to the matter. 

Anne left the room shaking her head in bafflement. Sometimes she did not understand what went on inside her wife’s head.

Once the door shut, Ann looked down at the prize she clutched in her hand and smiled. “I think next I see you will certainly be much before supper,” she thought. Slipping on her dressing gown, she sat on the bed to wait.

Realization dawned upon Anne. She had thought Ann’s behavior odd because, while her wife was usually very amorous, she tended to be a bit less lively first thing in the morning. She hadn’t considered that there might have been other motivations behind her wife’s attentions. 

“You sly minx,” she said in disbelief. Anne held out her hand and beckoned. “Give it here.”

“No.” 

Anne’s eyebrows flew up. “No?? What do you mean no?”

“I mean that you shall have to take it by force.” Ann grinned and held the watch protectively against her body.

“Ann, really, I don’t have time for these games.” 

“I don’t suppose you do as I seem to have the time.” She popped open the watch and postured as she inspected it, adjusting an imaginary ascot. 

Anne’s eyes narrowed. She was torn between being offended and amused. (Her wife captured her manner perfectly, yet somehow, all the while, managed to look adorable— a word Anne would never associate with herself.) “You think you’re rather clever don’t you, Miss Walker?”

“No, I know I’m rather clever.” Ann looked very pleased with herself. 

This was not the meek, timid woman Anne had once thought her to be. Since meeting, Ann had continually surprised her— with her curiosity, her forwardness, her playfulness— and, every time she did, Anne found herself falling just a little more. 

As they talked, Anne had been inching towards the bed. She must be close enough now; with a lunge, she flew forward. 

Ann’s eyes widened as her wife hurtled towards her. (Now Anne was definitely amused.) 

Wrapping an arm about her waist, Anne swung the small woman out of the bed. Ann let out a squeal as she found herself suddenly airborne. Everyone’s feet now firmly on the floor, Anne wrapped her arms around her wife, trapping her against her body. She laughed thinking she had gotten the better of the other woman, but then Ann went rigid against her.

“Anne! Anne, I feel unwell,” she gasped.

Anne immediately let go of her fearing that she had crushed the delicate woman. And then Ann was gone, dashing out the door, a trail of giggles in her wake.

Anne stood still in shock. What the…? Realizing that with every moment delayed her quarry was distancing itself from her, she took off with a jolt, thundering after her wife. 

By the time she got to the end of the hall, Ann was already nearing the bottom of the stairs. Surely with her long strides, she would easily catch up. Anne jumped down the stairs using the banner to assist her in vaulting past multiple steps. Her wife, now at the bottom of the stairs, darted towards the hall. She was almost there. Her dressing gown was just about in her grasp. 

But then Joseph was there with a large tub of water and Ann was slipping past him through the doorway. Joseph jerked the tub aside to avoid her and instead collided directly with Anne. The tub flipped spilling its entire contents on her front. Joseph stuttered out a string of apologies and desperately tried to mop the water off of her with his coat (this proved to be completely ineffectual). She could see Ann disappearing down the hall as she was held up.

“Move,” she bellowed. Joseph skittered away from her and she was off again. Down the hall and out into the yard. 

Ann was bent over laughing and trying to catch her breath. Argus didn’t help matters by trying to lick her face. The great brute had immediately become smitten with Ann the minute she had stepped foot in Shibden. Anne emerged from the hall, her front sopping. Seeing Anne, a fresh wave of giggles overcame her. She took off again though rather slowly as she struggled to breathe amidst laughter. 

Argus bounded around them, overjoyed that his two favorite people were at last playing chase. Anne reached out to grab her shoulder. Seeing that Ann was about to be caught, Argus let out a bark and launched himself at Anne. His paws hit Anne square in the chest and she toppled to the ground.

Anne let out a groan. The fall had knocked the wind out of her. She looked up at Argus standing over her.

“Bad dog! You ungrateful, traitorous bastard. Who took you in, hmm?” Anne yelled.

Argus whined and lay his great head on her chest. He gave her cheek a tentative lick. 

“Off. Get off!”

She stood up beating the dust from her clothes. Ann was nowhere in sight. Damn, dog.

His love for Ann had prevented Anne from catching her, but perhaps it could also help find her. She gave him a pat on the head and, making sure to keep her tone light, said, “Argus, where’s Ann?”

Argus perked up at hearing Ann’s name. He looked around only to realize that Ann was no longer there. He began pacing the yard searching for her. Then he was trotting off, around the corner of the building. Anne followed. 

Very much out of breath, Ann leaned against the wall of Shibden. No longer being able to run, she had wedged herself behind some bushes. She crouched there and grabbed her sides trying to soothe the ache of her lungs.

Suddenly, a wet nose poked her foot and snuffled. Then Argus’s whole head pushed its way through the foliage. She could hear his tail thumping against branches causing a whirlwind of leaves.

Ann’s eyes widened in dismay. “Argus no!” she whispered and frantically tried to shoo him away. But it was too late. Black boots stopped on the other side of the bush.

“Ann, I know you’re there.” 

Ann stood up feeling sheepish, suddenly aware of how frightful she must look. Her face was flushed, a light sheen of sweat covered her body and there were twigs and leaves tangled in her hair.

(Anne still thought she looked beautiful.)

Anne held out a hand to help her wife out of the bushes. Once on the other side, Anne tossed her over her shoulder, holding her about the back of the knees to keep her balanced. She began marching back across the yard.

“Anne, Anne! Put me down everyone will see,” Ann whispered.

“You should have thought of that before running off.”

“I promise I’ll come with you if you put me down,” Ann whined squirming about.

“I have already underestimated your wickedness multiple times today. I won’t be played the fool again.”

Ann sighed and lay still. She was quiet for some time seemingly resigned to her fate. And then, almost too quiet to hear, she murmured, “You’re very strong.”

“Well yes, I do enjoy exercise,” Anne said defensively. She was cursed (or blessed) with a manish figure. Her chest was too flat and her jaw too strong. She had none of the curves or softness that she so admired on Ann: she was all straight lines and hard angles. The muscles she gained from her various activities— sword fighting, mountain climbing, landscaping— did nothing to help the matter. 

“Anne, I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” said Ann surprised. “I love you exactly as you are. I thought you knew this. I find your muscles… umm well rather appealing.” 

Anne could feel her fiddling with the back of her coat and she imagined the blush that must be spreading across her wife’s cheeks. 

“I know.” She did know. But it seemed old wounds didn’t fade as much as she pretended they did. 

Entering the house, Anne came face to face with Cordingley. Anne halted and glared at her as if daring her to say something. Cordingley paused and then dipped in a small curtsy. “Miss Lister, Miss Walker,” she greeted and then carried on (she wasn’t stupid). She had work to do and, after all, it was by far not the oddest thing she had seen in her time here. 

They made it back to the bedroom without further incident. Anne unloaded her wife onto the bed. Ann tried to pull her on top of her but she stepped back. 

“Can I have my watch back now?”

“Oh,” Ann looked crushed by her words. “Won’t you stay awhile longer?”

“I told you, Ann. I have things to do,” she scoffed.

Ann crossed her arms. “You know, I always said I would never marry a man in trade,” she said bitterly.

“Well lucky for you I am neither.”

“But you may as well be for all I see you,” she cried.

“I see you every day!”

“Only at supper. Even when you come to bed at night, you’re too exhausted to do anything.”

“We were just connected last night,” Anne hissed. 

“Only because I initiated. Only because I crawled on top of you and did all the work. You barely even touched me,” Ann yelled.

Anne stormed up to her and grabbed her chin. “Keep your goddamn voice down before someone hears.”

“What like they don’t already know?” Ann spat.

“We are two respectable ladies that are good friends. That is all that we say; that is all that they say.”

Ann rolled her eyes. She had heard this speech before. “Everyone still knows. They talk behind our backs, they give looks, they send letters full of hate. I gave up a lot to be here with you.” She jabbed her finger at Anne.

“Well then leave! I never forced you to be here.” Anne threw her ends up into the air.

Ann turned her head away, a tear trickling down her cheek. “We used to go on walks together and read out loud to each other and play cards,” she whispered. “You used to give me back rubs. We used to talk together for hours. Remember how Marian used to yell at us for keeping her up at night when we laughed too loudly?” Ann gave a sad smile. “Now you have a thousand different projects going on and none of them have to do with me.”

People always told her she couldn’t or shouldn’t do things, but Ann had always encouraged her in all her endeavors. She never thought Ann would attack her for it like everybody else did. “What happened to loving me exactly as I am?” Anne spat. 

“It’s not about how you are. It’s about how you’re acting.”

“You know why I need my pocket watch so badly? So I can make sure I am on time to eat supper with you. But if you despise having me as your wife so much, I won’t be needing it today.” She stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

Ann let out a sob and threw the pocket watch across the room where it shattered against the wall just like her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some historical notes for anyone who is interested. Anne actually owned a sword and got fighting lessons from a soldier. She also sparred with wooden swords with her brother John. 
> 
> Anne Lister recorded Ann Walker as saying she would never marry a man in trade. September 29th, 1837: "Had always said she would not marry a man in trade. Could not bear the anxiety. In tears. I tried to convince her all would go well at last." Ann also at times expressed anxiety about the number of projects that Anne committed to. 
> 
> The activities I listed of them doing together, they actually did. (Although I added the part about Marian yelling at them.) 
> 
> I did some research to see if there were any casual clothing in the 19th century- something between a chemise (which for them was equivalent to underwear) and full dress with petticoats, sleeve plumpers and stays. Apparently, they had different levels: undress, partial dress, and dress, which modern-day would be casual, semi-formal, and formal. So what Ann is wearing, a dressing gown, is loungewear that would have been worn around the house. 
> 
> These are the articles I referenced for fashion: https://janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/tag/dressing-gowns/  
> https://www.kristenkoster.com/a-primer-on-regency-era-womens-fashion/


	3. Hey Anne, watch this! (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from last chapter. Ann has a slight breakdown and is comforted by Marian. Anne seethes, goes to the pub, and ends up a little bit worse for wear. Brief mention of vomit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to popular demand and the insistence of my girlfriend, here is part two! This was supposed to be the reconciliation chapter but it got super long so I decided to make it a three-parter. It's angsty but it does end in a happier place than last chapter
> 
> Note that it doesn't get that dark: mainly Ann is upset about their fight but she does definitely exhibit some unhealthy thought patterns and behaviors. If you are sensitive to descriptions of mental illness, please, please do take care of yourself.
> 
> Un-beta'd.

Ann collapses onto the bed. Sobs rack her body. How did it all spiral so quickly? One moment it had been going so well and then…and then… Oh god, she can’t bear it. It hurts. It hurts so much. What has she done? She can’t lose Anne. Her heart feels like it’s in a million tiny shards— shards that are ripping at the inside of her chest, stabbing her. 

She wraps her arms around herself and rocks back and forth whimpering. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She should have just kept her mouth shut. She should have been satisfied with seeing Anne at supper and sleeping next to her at night. She adored her wife, adored every moment she got to spend with her. Why did she have to be greedy and ruin it all? 

Except…shouldn't Anne want to spend time with her? Shouldn’t Anne miss her just as much as she misses Anne? Was she so busy because she was avoiding her? She knew Anne would get tired of her eventually. Maybe she was a fool for ever believing otherwise. But a stubborn part of her thrummed with the knowledge that Anne did love her and enjoyed being around her. Didn’t she? Wasn’t this morning, at least at the start, proof of that? And didn’t Anne say she always made sure she was on time for supper just so she could be with her? If only Anne were here, so she could just ask her. 

Suddenly, she was angry at Anne. Angry because she should be here, angry at her for leaving. She shouldn’t have to have this conversation in her head. She should be able to ask Anne these questions instead of endlessly pondering them herself.

Maybe, she would come back. Maybe, she was on her way back right now and she would come back through the door any second now. Ann peered at the door through tear-soaked eyes. Come back, please come back. But no footsteps sounded, the door remained closed and Ann was left alone with the sound of her sobs and her unanswered fears. 

Marian heard the fight, well parts of it. She did hear Anne slam the door: first the bedroom door and then the house door. Then she heard the wailing—heart-wrenching sobs filled with grief. (The depth of despair almost brought her to tears herself.)

Marian was very fond of Ann. When her sister told her that she was to move in with them, she had been very pleased. Surely, Shibden would be much less lonely with another soul around (especially one that was much more amiable than Anne.) Her hopes had proven to be true. Though Miss Walker had been shy at first, they quickly developed a pleasant rapport. 

She appreciated that there was someone else around who called Anne out on her nonsense. In fact, Anne seemed less irrational, less restless with Miss Walker around. She was mellower, happier. And, if she did grow too unpleasant, Ann would scold her and she would listen. Imagine that. Shy little Ann Walker keeping her sister in line with a touch of her hand and a look. 

And, while Ann never talked about men in regard to herself, she was happy to discuss Marian’s latest fancy (unlike Anne who scoffed and rolled her eyes whenever conversation turned to the subject.)

They had grown even closer these last few months as Anne was so busy she was barely at the house. They kept each other company, talking late into the evening and playing games. (Ann even helped her improve her cable stitch something she had never been able to master before then.) Ann never much discussed her relationship with Anne to Marian, but she could see the sadness in her eyes as the weeks passed with hardly any sight of Anne. 

It was late morning and Ann still hadn’t come down for breakfast. Marian didn’t want to overstep her bounds but she decided she ought to at least try to check on her. She made her way upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door. No reply came. After waiting for a few minutes, she knocked again. Again, no reply. She cautiously opened the door a crack. When no protest sounded, she opened it the rest of the way.

Marian had prepared herself for tears, for grand displays of emotion. She had not prepared herself for this: Ann lay crumpled on the bed, unmoving. She looked so small. 

"Ann?" 

When Ann didn't turn to face her, in fact, failed to respond at all, Marian rounded the bed. 

There were no more tears. What she saw was possibly worse (definitely worse.) Ann's eyes were listless, unfocused. She looked...empty as if somehow her body still lived yet her soul had departed. Marian's heart melted and she forgot all pretense of propriety as she lay down next to Ann and gathered her in her arms. (She thought that maybe, hopefully, she felt Ann shift further into her.)

They lay there for some time, Marian holding Ann’s limp body. It isn’t until she is almost falling asleep that she hears a hoarse whisper. “She left. We were...we were…” Ann’s voice breaks, and she lets out a small sob. She presses closer to Marian and, in a broken voice, says, “She just left.”

“She’ll come back. I know she will,” Marian reassures her. (Her sister better come back or she will have something to say about it.)

Ann doesn’t reply. A few tears trickle down her cheek. 

Marian rubs her back. She wishes she could help somehow, but she doubts that Ann will open up to her about their argument. But there are other ways she can help Ann. 

“You should eat something. It’s past midday. I’ll have the servants make you up a meal,” she says. 

A few minutes later, Marian returns with a tray of food. Despite her best coaxing, Ann stays silent and unfed. She sets the tray on the side table. Pulling a chair up to the bedside (a position she is overly familiar with), she sits. 

“Shall I read aloud to you?” Ann gives a minute shake of her head. “We could play a game?” Another minute shake of the head. Marian casts about for something else to do. Anything to bring Ann out of her listless state. “Perhaps you could draw. You always make the loveliest drawings.” Another shake of the head. Marian is silent. She feels uncertain and lost as to what to do. “Would you like me to sit with you?” This time a shrug. Well, it wasn’t a no. (But it isn’t a yes either.)

Anne pushed herself extra hard that day to keep her thoughts at bay. By the time supper rolls around, she is sweaty and tired and she wants nothing more than to collapse into the arms of her wife. Unfortunately, she is still rather angry at her wife. No, she’s not going to go home with her tail between her legs. She won’t give Ann the satisfaction. She said she wouldn’t be coming home for supper so she won’t be going home; her pride won’t let her (even if she actually really does want to go home.) Instead, she stomps her way to the town pub.

She had meant to go back to work after getting a bite to eat, she really had, but instead, she finds herself three drinks in and losing at cards to some of the local riffraff. She’s normally very good at cards but nothing seems to be going in her favor today. She downs the rest of her drink.

The barmaid comes by and leans over her to take her empty cup. Her face is presented with a clear view down her shirt and she tipsily thinks that her breasts are not nearly as nice as Ann’s. No ones' are as nice as Ann’s. They’re so round and supple in her hands, the darkness of her areolae stands out so nicely against her porcelain skin. Anne jumps as the barmaid’s hand runs across her back, breaking her away from her reverie. Suddenly, there is hot breath against her ear. “The man to your right has cards up his sleeve,” the barmaid whispers before sauntering off. 

There are several hoots at the sensual display and Anne fights to keep the irritation off of her face. Men are, on the whole, idiots.

She stands up pretending that she is going to get another drink and then whirls on the man sitting next to her. She grabs his arm and pulls back his sleeve. Several cards fall onto the floor.   
Grabbing his shirt collar, she drags his face up to hers. “How dare you,” she yells, spit flying into his face. “Don’t think that because I am a lady, I will hesitate to horsewhip you within an inch of your life.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his friend trying to sidle away from the table. With her other hand, she grabs her cane and whacks him on the collarbone forcing him back into his seat. The third of them jumps her from behind, catching her unawares. His arms wrap around her. She lets loose a blood-curdling roar, releasing all her pent up anger and frustration from the day. Her fists fly. God, it feels good. It may be three against one, but they don’t stand a chance. Sad saps. 

The rest of the pub sits in stunned silence, both at the audacity of these men to lay a hand on a Lister and at the sheer ferocity of Anne. 

It’s over in short order. Anne is left slightly worse for wear but with a broad grin and a pocket heavy with coin. 

Anne sits at the bar. The barmaid comes over, slinging a dishcloth across her shoulder. She leans on the bar and cocks an eyebrow. “Well, that was impressive.” 

“What’s impressive is your eye. He had to have been good at sleight of hand to be able to trick me.”

The maid gives a shrug. “It’s easier to spot if you’re not the one they’re trying to hide it from.” She holds out her cloth and gestures at Anne’s face. “You’re bleeding.”

Anne presses the cloth to her cheek. She remembers when Ann pressed a handkerchief to her bleeding hand. That had been so long ago. Normally, she doesn’t like being taken care of (she can take care of herself just fine, thank you), but Ann had done it so tenderly and with this look in her eye that her heart swelled despite herself. God, she misses her wife. She wants to move past this. Ann just needs to apologize to her first.

“Thank you for telling me. About the cheating that is.” She slides some coin over the counter. The maid pushes it back. 

“I don’t suppose you remember, but, a few years back, one of those men accosted me in the alley behind the bar. You pulled him off of me before he could do anything. It’s the least I could do.”

Anne shrugs and pushes the coin back towards her. “It’s not my coin. You deserve some sort of compensation from that bastard.”

The barmaid shakes her head. Pocketing the coin, she says, “You truly are a godsend.”

“Yes, well, not everyone thinks so,” Anne says darkly. “I could do with another drink.”

It’s late now and the pub has emptied except for a few who have drunken themselves into a stupor (she is definitely not among them. Such vulgar behavior is beneath her.) Anne is sprawled across a chair, smoke swirling around her as she takes a drag from her cigar. 

She’s surprised by Marian’s voice behind her.

“Good lord, what happened to your face?”

She turns around to see her sister standing there, looking very out of place. 

“None of your concern,” Anne retorts.

Marian looks furious for a second and seems to be searching for a biting come back but then she just shakes her head.

“I came here to talk to you about Ann. She hasn’t come out of the bedroom all day. I could hear her sobbing in there and all the food the servants brought her went untouched. What on earth did you do?” Marian glares at her. 

“What did I do? Why do you think it's me that did something?” Anne cries incredulously. 

“Because when haven't you done something!”

“You know I have feelings too Marian,” Anne drawls taking a deep swig of her mead. 

“I can see that as evidenced by your sulking.” 

“I am not sulking!” Anne snaps. 

“What you're doing is running away. Again. When what you should be doing is talking to her.”

Anne glares at her. But before she can say anything, Marian softens and places a hand upon Anne's arm. "Look, Anne, you obviously both care about each other a great deal— anyone with eyes can see that. Please, just talk to her? I'm sure you two can work out whatever's going."

Marian knows there is nothing more she can say. Anne needs time to process and come to her own decision. There's no way she will leave the pub if not by her own accord. She gives Anne's arm a squeeze and leaves. 

By the time Anne stumbles home, a tiny bit of dawn light has begun to show. However, she curses when she finds that the bedroom is completely dark, shutters drawn. She feels her way to the bed. Her hands find the mattress, and she pats it searching for the covers. Her hand collides with something large and hairy. Very hairy. 

“Argus?" she whispers into the dark.

A tail thump provides her reply.

"Argus get off the bed this instant.” She reaches out to shove him but a voice stops her.

"No Anne. He stays.” Ann turns in the bed and tightens her arm protectively around Argus. Argus’s tail begins thumping in earnest.

"He's not allowed on the bed,” she hisses.

“Well, you weren't here so I decided he is,” says Ann petulantly. 

Anne can tell her wife isn't going to budge on this, and she doesn’t want things to spiral again so she shifts to a different topic. 

“Marian said you haven't left the room all day.”

“Yes, although she was kind enough to come in and lay with me for a time.” 

“Marian was on my bed??” Anne is outraged.

“You. Left. You should be thanking her for checking in on me,” Ann snaps.

Normally, Anne is glad that Ann has friends who will take care of her. And normally, she has no problem with Ann sleeping hugging and being otherwise physical. Such affection is normal. But the fact that it was her sister poking her nose into her relationship makes her seethe.

“Is there anyone else who's been in my bed that I should know about?” she grumbles.

“Are you accusing me of something?” She hears Ann sit up. Can almost feel her glare burning into her skin. “You're the one who's been bandying about doing God knows what. By the smell of it, you found a pub to go sulk in.”

“I do not sulk!” Anne protests. Why do people keep saying that? She leans on the mattress for support and huffs. Ann recoils from the stench that is her wife’s breath. 

“I don’t want you in here. You reek of liquor and smoke.” 

Anne is so tired. And dizzy. So tired and dizzy. She just wants to lie down. She will not be kicked out of her own bed. Not when she hasn’t done anything wrong. Not when Ann should be the one apologizing.   
  
“How dare you! This my bed, my house.”

“Our bed. Our house,” Ann corrects. “We're married or have you forgotten.”

“Fine. I'll find somewhere else to sleep.” She doesn’t have the energy to argue. She turns and staggers out of the room.

Anne struggles to open her eyes. Her eyelids are so heavy. As soon as she opens them, she regrets it. Harsh sunlight streams in the window making her head throb. She snaps her eyes shut again. In the black void behind her eyes, she can so acutely feel every ache in her body. Her mouth is dry and putrid. It tastes like something crawled in there and died— perhaps her dignity. Her stomach roils. She needs to vomit. Now. She crashes onto the floor and scrambles for the chamber pot only to realize that this is not her room. She grabs an ornamental vase planed on a table next to the couch just in time. 

As her head is buried in the vase, she hears footsteps enter the room. Instead of looking around, she closes her eyes and prays please don’t be Marian, please don’t be Marian. She could do without her sister’s bickering this morning.

Marian looks down at her sister’s crumpled form, her head stuck in a 200-year-old ornamental vase. (So much for the quiet dignity of their forefathers.) “You're in a state,” she sniffs. 

Anne doesn’t raise her head and instead lets out a loud groan. 

Marian huffs, “Breakfast is ready if you can manage to pull yourself together,” and sweeps imperiously out of the room.

Everyone except for her wife is sitting at the breakfast table when she drags herself into the room. As she slumps into a chair, her aunt exclaims, “Goodness Anne! What happened to your face?”

Before she can reply, Marian chimes in. “She got into a fight with some men cheating her at cards. The barmaid told me.”

Anne glares at Marian but doesn’t say anything. She really isn’t in the mood for this. Worry claws at her stomach. Why hasn’t Ann come down? She manages a few spoonfuls of porridge but can’t bring herself to stomach anything else. Her head hurts so much and she wants to find her wife.

Standing, she announces, “Please excuse me I need to lie down for a while,”

Entering the bedroom, she sees her wife curled up in bed hugging her pillow. Upon seeing her, Ann bolts upright. “Anne, your face!” she cries. Anne winces at the noise. She collapses on the bed next to Ann. 

Ann inches towards her. Her hand hovers over Anne’s face, taking in the bruises. 

“Do you despise me? You must despise me. I shouldn’t have kicked you out last night. I was just so angry that you never came back but I didn’t know you were hurt.”

Anne brings her hand up to still Ann’s fretful hand. “Shhh, it’s alright. Just a few bruises.” She tiredly kisses the knuckles of Ann’s hand. 

“Were you attacked?” Ann whispers.

“No, just a small scrap at the pub over cards. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Oh.” Ann pauses. “So you picked a fight?”

“I didn’t pick a fight. The scoundrels were cheating.”

“Hmmm.” She can feel the displeasure radiating off of Ann.

“Please, Ann,” she groans. “I’m not up to doing this right now.”

Ann crosses her arms. “We need to talk.”

“Yes, we will talk as soon as I’ve rested,” she promises.

“Oh so you’ll put of your projects for a hangover, but you won’t put them off for me?”

“Ann please,” she pleads.

Ann sighs and relents. She can see her wife is feeling poorly. She still cares for Anne even if she is cross with her. 

Anne is still wearing her clothes from yesterday, not having had a chance to change in the dark. She looks a mess. Ann stands and slides off her wife’s boots. She gently peels off her stocking and then moves her hands up to Anne’s waist. 

“Let me make you more comfortable,” she murmurs. Obligingly, Anne lifts her hips to allow her wife to slide off her skirts. Ann’s hands go to the buttons of her vest. Her nimble fingers quickly undo all of the buttons and then those of the shirt underneath. Anne slips her arms out, leaving her in her shift and corset. 

Ann’s persistent hands push at her side indicating to her to roll over. She does so. Ann begins to unlace her stays and she sighs in relief at the release of pressure. Ann’s hands move upwards to pick the pins from her disheveled hair. As her hair uncoils, her head ache eases. She feels so much better now that she has been divested of yesterday. Ann runs a brush through the tangles in her hair. Anne’s eyes flutter shut. It’s soothing and she’s so very tired. 

She feels Ann settle next to her and a hand comes up to tenderly stroke her cheek. She feels lips press against her forehead and then Ann is pulling her into her chest. She gratefully burrows against her wife. It feels like coming home.

“You realize this doesn’t mean that I’m not upset with you anymore,” Ann murmurs. 

“I know,” she replies and then, no longer able to stop herself, drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not completely satisfied with this but, I read it so many times, I have no idea what's happening anymore. If anyone is interested in beta-ing or bouncing around fic ideas, please don't be afraid to send me an ask. I appreciate each and every one of you.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at outburstsoftheordinary. Feel free to stop by to yell at me about Gentleman Jack. Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
